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| Poet: n/a |
| Category: Angel |
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My wife doesn't trust
the floor lamp, lights ,volts ,amps
or me to behave when I've left
to trip the wobbly breaker
Only the hard-wired can placate
her fear of detours, discord
and chance disconnect allowing
blue-lightning strikes,
or sugar- frosted tarts bursting
from their blouses, showers of lust
sparking in an otherwise benign toaster.
.
The smoldering ruin of Rome
colors her mind, Our neighbors
burn their rubbers in the night,
the smell punches through
our walls and trips her
sensor, stiff , rigid, she's
asleep, when my seven alarms
are going off, remembering when
she tearfully asked: Did you plug It in her!?
A few times a year,
when twilight settles over our roof,
the few lamps we have left, fragile
as Edison's first filament,
faintly glimmer, I hear a heart beat
behind the sharp report,
the TV blaring: married couples
only couple twice a month!
Lonely souls, so abundant
around here, they inevitably
call the wrong line.
That said, she rolls over,
soothing her own demons.
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